


christmas lights (and new beginnings)

by friarlucas



Series: 12 days of ficmas ( 2018 ) [6]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, a holiday fic for miss eleven hopper, also there is hopper x joyce and stoncy if you squint, happy holidays everybody!!!!!!, i love platonic dynamics so much but who is surprised, shoutout to Emma for helping me and approving this, tis baby's first ST fic so, trying to adhere to le canon as much as possible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 10:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17139776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friarlucas/pseuds/friarlucas
Summary: Following the events of the last two years reaching their conclusion, Eleven finally knows enough peace to actually experience "the holiday season." Only problem is, she has no idea what exactly that even means.Lucky for her, she has the best friends and family in the world to share it with her and help her figure it all out.





	christmas lights (and new beginnings)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Ficmas, day 9 (although technically day 11... haha)! I wanted to post this on Christmas Eve considering the content of the story, so here we are. I was inspired to write this after binging the first season, and I had a lot of fun writing Eleven and all of her amazing dynamics on the show.
> 
> So hopefully this doesn't break canon too significantly considering I haven't finished the second season yet (shoutout to Emma for helping me check for continuity errors) and I hope this makes you all as warm and fuzzy as it made me to write it! Happy holiday season, and may you have a fulfilling and festive 2019. <3

For as long as she’s been free of the clutches of the lab and starting her new life in Hawkins, Eleven has yet truly experience the supposed joy of the “holiday season.”

Part of this, she acknowledges, is due to the fact that she’s not exactly sure what the holiday in question actually is. She understands that Hopper, the Byers, Mike and all her friends celebrate what’s known as Christmas, and she’s still trying to figure out the details of what exactly goes into all that. But she knows a couple of the kids at school celebrate something known as Hanukkah, and she’s even heard the word Kwanza thrown around a couple of times. As far as she can tell, there’s an awful lot of holidays to keep track of during the holiday season, and she’s not quite sure where to begin.

On the other hand, there’s the sole fact that she’s never been sitting still long enough to spare a second thought towards something like a holiday. This time last year she was running scared all on her own again, separated from all the normalcies of the real world and all the things she was just beginning to care about. Days bled into one another, and the concept of which day in December it happened to be felt monumentally less important than keeping her feet from freezing off or finding a place to scavenge away food for another day.

Hopper’s holiday gift of leaving her food and an Eggo the Christmas before was certainly a miracle, even if he didn’t think she would ever find it. It kept her alive a day longer, and she doesn’t think he’ll ever truly realize it.

It’s the aroma of toasting frozen waffles that stirs her out of sleep the morning of her first true Christmas Eve, a comforting scent to pull her back into consciousness. She’s reveling in the coziness of it all—the promise of food just a room away, the warm cocoon of blankets bundled up around her in her very own bed, the distant excitement of a seemingly universally cherished time of year creeping closer and closer—until opening her eyes sends a chill down her spine and jolts her out of her stupor.

She doesn’t understand how she ended up here again. The Upside Down was supposed to be closed off, locked away, somewhere she would never have to venture into again. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest as she looks out the window, at the hauntingly familiar flurries, and immediately she launches into a plan. Contemplates escape routes, devises how much energy she’ll have to exert, wonders how many more people she’s going to have to hurt until she makes it back home.

When she forces herself to sit up straighter and get a better look out the window, some of her terror washes away. Sure, the flutter of white is familiar, but the rest of the world still retains its usual hue of color from copper-red to bright yellows to the twinkling of rainbow decorating the houses peeking through the trees so far away. They’re not trapped in the sickening blue-grey, expanding on forever and second only to the dreadful experience of endless black.

_Snow._ The word pops into her brain like a beacon, reminding her that the flurries collecting into heaps on the ground outside her window do not only belong to The Upside Down. In fact, for most other children it’s a glorious thing—the promise of rosy cheeks and cancelled classes and unparalleled fun.

How curious it is, to relearn a horror as something beautiful.

Eleven slouches back against her pillows, taking a moment to allow her panic to fully recede. Remembering the cozy safety of her blanket cocoon, only to recognize it’s even more bulky than the night before. She’s acquired another knit afghan over the course of the night, laid gently on top of her other covers. She knows she couldn’t have retrieved it herself, which only leaves one other logical solution.

Glancing towards the hallway, she listens to the sound of sizzling. Movement in the kitchen. The symphony of a morning just beginning.

Padding out into the hall, it isn’t long before she finds Hopper in the kitchen. He’s frying what looks like an egg in a pan, just careless enough in its execution that the edges are blackening. His attention is otherwise occupied, skimming the newspaper and lost in thought. In the toaster on the countertop, the little red light dims as it emits a ding and pops two frozen waffles, golden brown and thawed to perfection.

“Egg,” Eleven states helpfully, causing Hopper to jump in spite of himself. He tosses a glance towards her then down towards his overcooked breakfast, grimacing and turning off the burner.

“Good catch,” he responds. He reaches for plates from the cabinet before rethinking his next move, turning back to her and gesturing her towards the kitchen table. “Morning. Go, sit. I’ll get these for you. Go on.”

Eleven smiles, drifting over to the small table and settling down in her usual chair as Hopper shuffles around finishing preparations. When he’s ready to join her, one plate of burned eggs in one hand and plate of Eggos in the other, she opts to speak again.

“Another blanket?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” He sets the plate of waffles down in front of her before sliding into the opposite chair with a grunt. He pokes at the eggs in an attempt to make them appear more appetizing, avoiding eye contact with her. “Thought you looked a little cold when I turned in for the night. It can get pretty cold out here in Hawkins, this deep into winter.” He pauses, tossing her a look. “Of course, you know that.”

Eleven nods. After a moment of silence, she leans forward just enough to capture his attention again. “Thank you.”

He waves her off, but the bashful nature of his response is indicative enough. She smiles to herself, following his lead and focusing on eating her breakfast. For a good portion of the meal they settle into comfortable silence, a familiar and expected pattern between the two of them. In a world that seems to constantly demand so much noise and chatter and urgency, Eleven has always appreciated the plaintive calm of staying with Jim Hopper.

When she glances out the window at the snow, which has now slowed to the occasional flutter of a stray flake, she’s reminded of the supposed time of year. “Christmas?”

“No, not quite,” Hopper corrects gently, shoveling another forkful of egg into his mouth. He halts his thought until he swallows, following her gaze to take in the snow-covered town around them. “Christmas Eve. The day before. Most people make a special day out of this one too, though.”

Eleven absorbs this, once again thinking there are far too many holidays to keep track of in this season.

“That’s why we’re going to the Byers this evening,” he reminds her, taking a long sip of coffee. “Joyce has got the whole crew coming over it sounds like. Christmas Eve, it’s all about that kind of stuff. Coming together, spending time with loved ones.”

“You like it?”

Hopper shrugs, thoughtful. “Warming up to it. Haven’t much celebrated it, last few years.”

She supposes that makes sense. As lost and trapped as she’s been for a majority of her life, she’s come to learn Hopper had his own demons to battle long before they ever crossed paths. She figures that’s why they fit so well together, both war-torn survivors of their own personal hell just searching for a little peace and quiet. Only not wanting to be there alone.

“I’ll be going into the station for a bit this afternoon,” he says, dropping his fork on his empty plate and leaning back in his chair. “But I’ll be back before we leave for the Byers.”

Eleven frowns slightly, confused. “Holiday?”

“Yeah, but crime unfortunately doesn’t take a holiday.” Hopper pushes to his feet and begins gathering his dishes. He leaves Eleven’s with her, not rushing her in any capacity. “You still planning to go to the Wheelers this afternoon?”

A twinkle of excitement sparks in Eleven’s eyes, remembering her plans for the afternoon. She nods, hurrying to finish her waffles so she can get going.

“I was going to say, if not you would be welcome to come down to the station with me.”

Eleven pauses, piece of Eggo halfway in her mouth. She crinkles her nose, and the disinterest clear from that subtle twitch alone causes Hopper to laugh.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” He drops the dishes into the sink, light smile on his face, before an idea seems to strike him. “Oh, that does remind me though. Thought I’d offer to drive you, but I think I have something you’ll appreciate much more.”

Eleven straightens up, curious as Hopper disappears back into the hallway. She listens carefully as the door to his bedroom opens, and when Hopper returns moments later he’s accompanied by an odd clanking. It’s not unfamiliar to her, given all the time she spends with her friends, but it certainly doesn’t belong to something she herself owns.

Until today, it seems. Hopper returns carrying a brand new bicycle, plopping it down in the center of the room and holding it steady for her to see.

Eleven jumps out of her seat, scrambling over to join him. Her eyes are wide. “Bike?”

“Yep. Was gonna stick it under the tree tonight so you’d see it come tomorrow,” he explains, casting an offhand nod towards their unassuming fir tree laden with twinkling lights. “But it’ll do you good now and, like I said, we’re just getting back into the holidays around here. Think we can break a rule or two.”

She cannot believe how cool it is. Handlebars just like Mike’s, the same sort of slightly rusted chains and a pastel yellow seat. She reaches out to take the handles, twisting the front wheel from side to side and watching the sunlight glint off the metal.

“It’s used, so it’s got a couple of dents,” Hopper says sheepishly, crossing his arms. “But I figure it’ll get you where you need to go.”

It’s the most perfect bike she thinks she’s ever seen. She lifts her gaze to meet his, hesitant.

“Mine?”

“Well, it definitely isn’t mine,” Hopper quips. He reaches out and pats her shoulder, a smile blooming across her face. “Merry Christmas, and all that.”

Eleven isn’t sure she deserves it. She can’t believe she deserves such a kindness, considering how much she feels as though she’s been pushing her own luck these days. But it seems even more off to refuse such a gift, especially when she doesn’t want to.

“Go on, get dressed,” Hopper nudges, reaching for his coat on the rack. “We’ll head out together.”

Eleven nods, racing back to her room and dressing for the weather. She doesn’t bother with worrying about what she’s going to wear all that much—that’s what she’s fretting about at the Wheelers anyway, and she knows she’ll get plenty of help. For now, she just needs to focus on staying warm, especially with the wind whipping around her as she breezes through town on her new bike.

Funny, how she feels warm enough from the inside out already.

When she emerges back into the living room and grabs her bike, Hopper stops her by the door to check that she’s bundled up enough. Dissatisfied, he reaches up on the coat rack and plucks a knit cap from the clutter, navy blue and worn from wear.

He situates it onto her head, a gesture that causes her to stiffen up at first. She can’t forget the sense of panic, the cold metallic pressure of the headgear from the lab, but it’s clear after a few moments of deep breathing and threat assessment that this headgear is far from the same. It’s like the blonde wig only even better, soft and warm and placed on her head by someone who cares about her.

“Not bad,” Hopper declares once it’s situated on her head. Eleven reaches up to adjust it, her dark curls peeking out from every direction. “Will keep you warm at least.”

The two of them head out onto the porch together, Eleven taking care to walk her back down the few wooden steps and onto the snow-covered lawn. Hopper helps her direct it towards the road, scanning the road to assess its condition.

“Doesn’t seem to be icy, and the roads are mostly plowed.” He unlocks the door to his cruiser. “Stay on the main roads and you should be okay. You feel good about getting there?”

“Yes.”

“And if anything should happen, you know the number for the station.”

“Yes,” Eleven says impatiently, mounting her bike and starting to inch across the crunching snow.

“Alright. Alright, get going then.”

She grins, placing her feet on the pedals and starting a slow push forward. She’s grateful that Mike and the boys took the time to teach her how to ride their bikes a couple weeks back, so she’s not at a complete disadvantage. She’s shaky, but she’ll manage. She’ll get better, like she’s doing in every other aspect of her life.

Once she gets to the tree line before their trip wire, she suddenly hesitates. Feeling as though her morning conversation with Hopper isn’t quite finished.

She looks back at him over her shoulder, getting ready to climb into his car. “Hopper.”

He glances at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Happy holiday.”

Something about the cheerful declaration prompts a tickled smile from her guardian’s lips. He nods, returning the sentiment with a light chuckle. “Happy holiday. See you later tonight.”

Eleven beams, whipping around and biking her way onto the main road. Hopper watches her go, feeling the spirit of the season in a way he hasn’t in a long time before starting the engine on the cruiser.

* * *

With her hat and bicycle allowing her to glide through the streets of Hawkins, Eleven is less cautious than usual as she cruises towards Mike’s house. When she makes it to their place she’s relieved to see his mom’s car out of the driveway, indicating she won’t have to be nearly as careful.

She nearly hops off her bike to run to the doorway, but then she remembers that’s part of what she’s so excited about. Instead, she wheels it through the snow, terrain crunching under her shoes as she makes it to the front door and knocks lightly. At first she’s hesitant, wondering if maybe Mr. Wheeler is home and he’ll be the one to answer the door, but then she recalls how much time he spends snoozing away in the La-Z-Boy. She’s not too concerned.

Her worries are fully assuaged when she hears her usual crowd approach on the other side of the door, their voices echoing in playful argument even as they ascend from the basement.

“I’m telling you, I heard knocking!” Mike says defensively.

“Yeah, uh huh,” Lucas retorts. Eleven is already smiling, nice to be back in the midst of her friends and their banter. “Just like the time you heard a UFO and it was just a commercial jet. Or the time you heard the oven beep but the cookies still had five minutes left on the timer.”

“That was Dustin!” Mike’s expression is pinched in defense when he opens the door, dissolving instantly to surprise when he sees her on the doorstep. “El!”

“El’s here?”

Will appears behind his best friend, a grin spreading across his face when he sees her on the doorstep. “El! I didn’t know you were coming.”

The boys immediately launch into excited greetings, crowding the doorway and bombarding her with questions. Certainly not the calm tranquility of a morning with Hopper, but there’s a sentimentality to their chaos that Eleven has grown to cherish.

She searches for a moment to interrupt the bustle, wheeling her bike forward indicatively. “New bike.”

All four of them stop their chatter and draw their focus to the bicycle in her hands. Another roar of excitement erupts, the four of them launching into questions about where she got it and how she’s doing riding it and crafting plans for all the new places they can go.

Will offers her a soft smile, touching the yellow seat. “I like this color. Super nice.”

“Now you and Mike can stop slowing us down by dragging along both your weights whenever we go riding,” Dustin declares, jostling Eleven’s shoulder. “We can actually hit warp speed, for once!”

“Please tell me you paid for it,” Lucas says pointedly, taking a look at the wheels.

Eleven narrows her eyes at him, but she knows he’s only poking fun. “Gift. From Hopper.”

“Early Christmas haul! Nice.”

“Now that you’re here, do you want to come in?” Mike asks, stepping outside to join her. She likes when he adjusts to stand closer to her, mostly because of it gives her a better vantage point to look at him. She finds all of them interesting, of course, but she supposes she’ll always be a bit more fascinated in Mike. Today, it’s the freckles scattered across his cheeks that have her attention. “We’re in the middle of our holiday campaign, but I’m sure we could find a place to squeeze you in.”

“Last one of the year,” Will elaborates. “So much going on during the holidays.”

Eleven furrows her brow. “Crime doesn’t take a holiday?”

“Yeah, but monsters do,” Dustin states defiantly. “Because we say so.”

“Have to spend a week messing with whatever stuff we get from the holiday before we inevitably get bored and end up back in the same place in Mike’s crummy basement,” Lucas sighs.

“If it’s so crummy, why do you spend so much time here?”

“Your mom makes the best snacks. That’s the only reason.”

Mike makes to shove at Lucas, Dustin rolling his eyes and sighing dramatically. “You two are so dramatic!”

“What do you say, El?” Will questions, Mike and Lucas cutting out their theatrics long enough to turn their gaze on her as well.

Eleven can feel her cheeks flush, suddenly under the scrutiny of her friends. It’s not that she doesn’t want to spend the afternoon with them—in some ways, she can’t imagine anything more safe and enjoyable—but that isn’t why she came over. She discovers she’s never been in the position where she already has plans.

“No,” she says softly, offering an apologetic smile.

Mike’s smile instantly falters. Part of her wishes she could take it back. “No?”

Lightly, she shakes her head. Searching for the words to explain the situation, to give them context to see that the decision doesn’t come from a personal preference or dismissal of them.

“She can’t play games with you because she’s here to see me,” a voice states confidently, seemingly coming from above. Eleven glances upwards beyond the doorway as the boys whip around, searching for the source of the explanation.

Nancy descends the stairs, well-groomed and as pretty as always. Her hair is pulled back out of her face, a bit more haphazardly than usual but seemingly in preparation for a more elaborate styling as the evening progresses. She graces Eleven with a smile, coming the rest of the way down the stairs to join the crowd in her entryway.

“You?” Mike scoffs, frowning. “Why would she come over to see you?”

“Because she requested it, and we have very important girl things to discuss.” At the evident disappointment of her brother, she rolls her eyes. “Oh, put away the pout, drama king. You’ll see her tonight just like everyone else.”

Dustin’s expression brightens, reminded of their Christmas eve plans. “Yeah! It’s gonna be bitchin’.”

“Bitchin’,” Eleven agrees.

Nancy turns her focus on her, raising her eyebrows and extending a hand. “Ready?”

Eleven nods, allowing Nancy to take her hand. She nudges her way through her brother’s crowd of friends and leads the way back up the stairs, ignoring Mike’s pointed grumbles and the inane chatter of the rest of them.

“Oh, come on, Mike. We’ve got a campaign to finish. Eleven will still exist a few hours from now.”

Lucas seconds the notion. “You’re being dumb over nothing.”

“Not even!”

“Even,” three voices retort at once, the boys retreating back to the basement.

* * *

Eleven works her hardest not to flinch as Nancy brings the makeup brush to her cheeks, lightly dabbing a layer of rouge onto her cheeks. “You can afford to go light on the blush this time of year. The weather will give you enough of a natural flush, and you don’t want to overdo it.”

“Light,” she repeats, committing the idea to memory. Although, if she’s being honest, she’s not entirely sure what Nancy is doing or what a majority of the ideas behind dressing up actually are. She’s simply happy to nod along and let her make her pretty.

Considering how pretty she’s always found Nancy, she has to assume she’s the expert.

“This is mascara,” Nancy continues, uncapping a small, bristled brush covered in black liquid. It looks questionable from where she’s sitting, but she trusts Nancy not to do her any harm. Regardless of how dangerous most of these beauty tools appear at first sight. “It goes on your eyelashes and makes them bolder. More noticeable.”

“Bold.”

“Mhm. Can you tilt your head up, just a bit? Yeah, like that.” Nancy gently takes her chin, adjusting her posture. “Now look upwards, almost as if you want to roll your eyes all the way back.” She pauses, suddenly thoughtful. “Could you do that? Roll them all the way back?”

Eleven shrugs. Nancy makes a face, ultimately deciding it seems that she’d rather not know.

“It’s just a light brush stroke, like this,” she continues to explain, carefully running the brush over Eleven’s lashes.

It takes a couple of tries, as anything getting so close to her eyes seems threatening and she keeps accidentally blinking. But Nancy displays an astounding amount of patience, and with a little more effort she’s made her lashes bold in no time at all.

When Nancy recaps the mascara brush, she takes a moment to examine her young friend. After a moment she smiles, reaching forward to wipe away some residue blush with her thumb. “Just takes practice. With time, you’ll get it.”

“Pretty.”

“Oh, sure,” Nancy says offhandedly, digging through her make-up bag. “But it’s also fun. That’s the reason I play around with it now, at least, just because it’s fun to try new looks and such.”

“For Steve?”

Nancy pauses, nodding to acquiesce some of the truth of this question. “It used to be. For everyone, basically. Trying to think about what other people would like. But now, it’s for me. It’s so much more fun when I’m dressing up for me.” She blinks herself out of the thought, locking eyes with her. “Especially with a friend.”

She gives Eleven an affectionate grin. She mirrors it, feeling lucky enough to be sharing such important time with her. Mike had told her Nancy could be like her older sister, and from what she understands a sister is someone you can look up to, learn from, and trust when things get rough. They may not always be available, but they’ll be there for you when you need them.

Eleven very much likes the idea of having Nancy for a sister. And as promised, when she asked for her she was there to help.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had someone to do this with,” Nancy admits quietly, pulling out a couple of shades of nail polish. She contemplates another color but doesn’t seem particularly decisive, thoughts drifting in a different direction.

“Why?”

She hesitates, but Eleven catches her eye glance towards her side table. There, a picture of her late friend Barb sits, untouched and still paramount even after so much time apart. The pain still present under the surface, even if life seems to proceed as normal. Maybe even more pointed, considering the season.

Finally, she exhales, plastering another pretty smile onto her face. “Not a lot of friends who are interested.”

Eleven isn’t sure what to say. She has enough of a time trying to keep up with the world, moments like these that require a sense of social etiquette are some of the most difficult situations for her to process. She’s not Mike, with his endlessly big heart. She’s not Will, with his soft-spoken bravery and obvious tenderness. She’s not Joyce, so bursting with compassion that her love alone is enough to remedy a tragic scenario.

She’s simply Eleven. She’s Jane “El” Hopper, essentially new to this world as someone worth knowing, and she’s figuring out the rest as she goes. So she tries to think about all of the ways her friends have assured her, how people in her new life have provided her comfort even when she didn’t realize that’s what it was at the time.

Nancy lifts her gaze in surprise when she feels Eleven’s fingers lightly touch her wrist.

“I am,” Eleven states softly, hoping the words are right. And if they aren’t, hoping that the intention behind them will shine through regardless. “I’m here.”

There’s a long pause. Nancy absorbs this, releasing a small laugh even though nothing is particularly funny. She nods, smiling at Eleven again and lightly patting her hand. A gesture of thanks, simply non-verbal. Eleven can recognize it, just from the intention.

“See? More fun,” she jokes. Then her expression of concentration returns, shifting gears and running a couple of fingers through Eleven’s curls. “Let’s talk hair. You’re going to be so stunning at that party tonight everyone within a mile radius is going to drop dead.”

Eleven’s eyes widen. When Nancy notices the shock in her features she laughs sheepishly, shaking off her concern.

“Not literally. It’s an expression. Although I suppose with you, the possibilities are endless.” She gets to her feet, grabbing another small kit from her dresser and revealing a mess of Bobbi pins and hair ties. “Where should we start?”

* * *

When Eleven gears up to leave that afternoon, the rest of the party rolls out around the same time. There’s a certain thrill in being included in the great exodus from Mike’s house, riding along the streets with Lucas, Dustin, and Will as they make their way home.

“As if you all are getting anything from me,” Lucas shouts as he leads the pack, Dustin grumbling and pedaling harder to catch up. “For one, I’m in middle school. I have no money. Two, my friendship is gift enough. Anything else would just be indulgent.”

“Friends don’t give gifts?” Eleven questions, confused. As far as she could tell, gift-giving seemed like something reserved solely for friends and loved ones.

“That’s right. Friends don’t lie and friends don’t give gifts. That’s the rules.”

“No,” Dustin yells, zooming past Lucas as he pulls up to his house and smacking him on the shoulder as he goes. Lucas gasps and gestures not-so-kindly in response. “Friends can give gifts if they want! Lucas is just a shitty friend.”

Eleven slows to a stop as Dustin continues on towards his house, Lucas walking his bike up his lawn through the snow. Even more about the traditions of these holidays that she doesn’t understand. And even if she were to think about getting her friends a gift, she’s stuck in the same boat as Lucas. He’s correct, they’re only middle schoolers with no disposable income, and Eleven has less than a dollar to her name. She’s never had to consider it much.

Will drifts to a halt beside her, tilting his head at her. “All good, El?”

She blinks out of her thoughts, taking in the inquisitive expression of her friend. Considering all that’s happened in the past year or so, she has to admit she hasn’t gotten to know Will as well as she could have. Sure, there’s been a lot going on, but it seems a shame with how beloved he is to Mike and Dustin and Lucas. They’re even cosmically connected in some way, at least that’s what Joyce has told her many times in the midst of reminding her everything she did to help bring her son home.

All that, and here he is taking the extra moment to see if she’s alright. He could have zipped away behind Dustin and continued his journey, but instead he opted to hang back and check in on her. She doesn’t see how anyone could find it in their hearts to be cruel to Will Byers.

But then, she’s seen her lion’s share of the world’s ability to be cruel. Even to the softest, those who hardly deserve it.

“Yes,” she assures him, offering a small smile. He returns it, and the two of them continue to bike their way down the street. Now without the pressure of a larger group, Eleven is grateful they can go slower considering she still hasn’t quite mastered the mechanics of the bicycle.

“Don’t worry about Lucas and Dustin,” he says after a minute of silence. He twitches his head to swing the bangs out of his eyes, obviously in need of a trim on his haircut before the new year rolls around. “They’re always saying silly stuff like that, as I’m sure you’ve realized. There’s no rules to giving gifts.”

Eleven hesitates, ruminating further on the notion. “Do you?”

“Give gifts?”

She nods, before remembering his attention is focused on the road. “Yes.”

“Depends on the person. I always get something for my brother. I usually make something for my mom, she loves it when I draw her things. It feels sort of stupid since I’m drawing things all the time, so I try to mix it up with other crafts, but she never complains.”

She smiles, imagining the joy on Joyce’s face when she receives another piece of art from her cherished son. She can practically feel the happiness, radiating through her from a memory she’s never even seen herself yet harbors such a definitive energy.

“The Party, I don’t know. Depends on the year and what I can scrounge up from the couch cushions. I don’t so much make things for them, although I’m sure they’d appreciate it if I did.” Will makes a face, suddenly laughing. “Also depends on whether or not they deserve it, honestly. One year, when we were in fourth grade, Lucas and Mike were fighting about everything all the time so Dustin and I embargoed them.”

“Embargo?”

“Yeah. It’s like putting a block on trade. So we put a block on presents. No gifts when you’re spending so much time being so annoying.”

Eleven chuckles along, not quite sure what about the sentiment is humorous but enjoying the fact that her friend is laughing either way. It’s been rare to see Will laugh in the time she’s spent with him.

“Getting a gift,” she says thoughtfully, trying to phrase her query the correct way. She’s slowed down so much they’re practically walking their bikes at this point, not trusting herself to multitask such complicated thinking. “How?”

“How what?”

“How?” she repeats, chewing her lip as she tries to find the words to elaborate. She wants to understand how Will decides to make a homemade gift for his mother, or which Star Wars knick-knack to get Mike each year. How did Hopper know to give her the bike, certain she’d love it? How is she supposed to know what kind of gift is meaningful, or worth presenting at all? “How do you choose?”

“Like what to get people?” Will hums, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I know this sounds soft, but I kind of think the thought of getting a gift at all is the most important. So I usually like my presents to be something that made me think of the person.”

Eleven nods along, totally captivated by the possibilities. There are so many things she sees every day where she finds herself thinking about one of her friends without realizing it. It feels as though the whole world is filled with them.

“That’s what a gift is really about anyway. Letting the other person know you care about them, that you’re thankful that they’re in your life. To me, at least.”

They’ve reached the Byers house. She can see Christmas lights twinkling through the windows, objects that once used to clutter the interior of the house now up and blinking for a cheerier, far superior reason.

Even though she’ll be there in just a few hours, Eleven finds herself wanting to go inside with Will and spend some time soaking up the familial friendliness of the place. For all the hell that’s occurred in their house, the Byers have managed to find a way to rebuild a home from the rubble. Whatever demons lurked within those walls, their love is evidently stronger.

She’d love to follow him in, but she now knows she has much to accomplish in the few hours before she returns with Hopper. The seed has been planted in her head, and she’ll be damned if she arrives at the party with those she treasures most empty-handed.

“Thank you,” Eleven tells Will, watching for good measure as he walks his back up the driveway. “See you soon.”

“See you soon,” he agrees, grinning.

Eleven waits until he’s safely back in the house, bike discarded on the lawn, before kicking off the curb. She pedals faster than before, knowing she has a lot of ground to cover. But she’s determined, and she’s been known to be a force to be reckoned with when she’s determined.

* * *

Hours later, Eleven has successfully curated a small collection of gifts for her most beloved friends and packed them away for safekeeping until delivery. She’s done her best not to mess up the hairstyle Nancy spent so much time perfecting—although she’s inevitably roughed it up a bit in her search—and is donning the dress the eldest Wheeler child allowed her to borrow for the evening. It’s evergreen, made of a strange material known as velvet, and Eleven doesn’t think she’s ever felt anything so comfortable. She certainly feels pretty, that’s for sure.

However, they neglected to discuss footwear. So like usual, she’s got her green and yellow tube socks and her ratty white tennis shoes to get her through.

What took far more effort than expected was wrapping the trinkets for her friends. It took her long enough to find the wrapping paper tucked away on the top shelf of the hall closet, barely scrunched into the pocket of wall space. Between the gift wrap and tape and scissors Eleven is surprised she only ended up with a collection of paper cuts.

Regardless, she did it. The bag she dug out of the bottom of the closet now holds precious cargo, so she takes care to hold onto the strap tight as she jogs out into the living area to join Hopper.

Bundled up once again, the two of them venture out together to the cruiser and head over to the Byers, the town brighter than usual from the reflective quality of the snow blanketing the town.

Once Hopper finds a place to park on the street, it’s evident that they’re one of the last to arrive. Eleven can see the throng of friends and family congregated in the living room through the wide window, and she resists the urge to sprint her way to the door so she doesn’t miss another second of the festivities.

The moment Jonathan opens the door to let them in, Joyce in upon them in seconds flat.

“It’s so good to see you, Jane,” she says affectionately, wrapping Eleven in a bone-crushing hug. The kind of embrace mothers are expert at giving, she figures. When she pulls away she gives her a smile, taking her face in her hands. “Cold out, isn’t it? Your cheeks are all flushed. I like your hat, looks very warm.”

Eleven glances over her shoulder, waiting for the cue from Hopper. He gives her a subtle nod, so Eleven reaches into her bag and retrieves the bouquet of seasonal flowers her guardian handed her before they headed out the door. An additional present for their host this evening, one that Eleven is more than happy to give.

She holds them out for Joyce. “Happy holiday.”

“Oh, these are lovely,” she says emphatically. She takes them delicately, examining them for a long moment. When she lifts her gaze, her eyes go straight to Hopper. “How thoughtful of you both.”

Eleven doesn’t know much about relationships, least of all what’s going on between Joyce and Hopper, but she gets the striking feeling she should leave them to it.

“Party?”

“Oh, yes,” Joyce agrees, blinking herself out of the moment. She gives Eleven another beam, lightly patting her shoulders and steering her in the correct direction. “Everyone is in the family room, just through there. Food’s in the kitchen—I’ll fix you a plate. You go ahead and mingle.”

“I’ll help you with that, Joyce,” Hopper offers pleasantly, disappearing with her towards the kitchen. Eleven hesitates before stepping more fully into the family room, where all of her friends and their loved ones have gathered in the warm glow of the holiday lighting.

The sight is much to behold. Everyone in their best seasonal attire, the boys in nice knit sweaters and Nancy wearing a lovely dress that far outshines everyone else in the room. A fir tree decorated with silly colorful baubles and twinkling in tinsel is tucked in the corner, defiantly standing in front of the wall that was once holding terrible secrets and the spirit of a boy who refused to be broken. From the radio, a crackly station transmits a mix of what Eleven is sure are popular holiday tunes.

Mike spots her the moment she enters, but Nancy beats him to a greeting. She breaks from her conversation with Steve Harrington and Jonathan to float over to her, gracing her with another beautiful smile. “There you are. We were beginning to wonder if you were going to show, but then Jonathan reminded me Hopper is notoriously late.” She takes a moment to look her over, giving her a knowing wink. “I love your dress.”

“Thank you.”

“I actually have something for you,” Nancy says, holding up a finger and darting back to her jacket hanging on the coat rack. She reaches into the large pocket and retrieves a medium-sized wrapped box, holding it out for Eleven as she approaches her again. “Merry Christmas.”

“A gift?” She takes it warily, not anticipating the gesture. She came fully prepared to give gifts, not exactly ready to receive them. “I don’t have—,”

Nancy waves her off. “Trust me, it didn’t take much out of me. I just thought about it after you left and thought you might appreciate it. No need to give me anything in return. You all are middle schoolers anyway, how would you pay for it?”

She nods encouragingly, waiting for Eleven to unwrap it. Uncertain, Eleven glances towards Jonathan and Steve before peeling away the gift wrap.

It’s a clear plastic box, and inside are a random assortment of beauty tools. A handful of Bobbi pins, a starting compact of rouge and brushes, a tube of lip gloss and her very own mascara wand. A starter kit for one of those activities she’s interested in mastering with a fair bit of practice.

“I had so much laying around in my drawers, I thought I could maybe help you kick off your own practice. Except the mascara, that’s brand new. You should avoid sharing eye make-up, if you can help it.”

Eleven feels lost for words. So she states the only one she can seem to muster. “Bitchin’.”

Nancy seems pleased with this response, beaming before turning her grin towards the boys behind her. “You see? I told you both she would like it.”

“Whatever,” Steve teases, the two of them obviously sharing some sort of inside joke Eleven isn’t aware of.

As Nancy drifts back over to him and gives him a playful nudge, Jonathan shifts his attention to the radio when he notices her staring at it. “You know the song?”

It’s a pop tune of some kind, likely a hit Eleven very well should know. She simply hasn’t had enough time to catch up on all the pop culture she’s inevitably missed.

“Oh, well, it’s a classic.” Jonathan reaches forward and turns up the speaker a few clicks. “ _Wonderful Christmastime_ , by Paul McCartney. Probably the best Christmas track they’ve released in years.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve says in exasperation. Although his tone is disdainful, Eleven can sense that the interaction is far more playful than antagonistic. “Everybody knows that the best Christmas song is _Santa Claus Is Coming to Town_ by the one and only legend of music, Bruce Springsteen.”

“You’re only saying that because you wish you _were_ Bruce Springsteen.”

Jonathan gestures to his head, mocking Steve’s windswept hair. He rolls his eyes, shifting his attention to Eleven instead. “Honestly, the song playing doesn’t matter. What matters is that you know how to _dance_ to whatever comes on. Luckily, I’m the resident expert on such matters.”

“So you think.”

“Steve,” Nancy giggles, torn between wanting him to stop and deriving amusement from his shenanigans.

Steve begins to dance, grooving in place. He moves with confidence, but Eleven has absolutely no idea whether what he’s doing is considered good or not. “See, there it is. Gotta just dance it out. Get a little hip movement in there—,”

“Okay, I think you’ve horrified her enough,” Nancy states, taking Steve’s arm and yanking him back towards her. He continues to dance in spite of her restraint, all three teenagers chuckling. Nancy gives Eleven one more apologetic smile. “Merry Christmas, El.”

Eleven nods, watching them for a few more moments before spinning around to head towards the tree where her party is gathered. Her boys are seated on the floor in front of the assembly of presents, taking up an impressive amount of space the way they’re sprawled for four relatively slight adolescents.

“Here she comes, you can stop pouting now,” Lucas says, kneeing Mike in the ribs.

Mike sits up, locking eyes with Eleven as she approaches. His face immediately brightens as she approaches. “El!”

“Happy holiday,” she says in greeting, dropping onto her knees to join them. She reaches for her bag and pulls it onto her lap, unable to hold back her grin. “Presents.”

Dustin immediately stops zoning out, tuned back into the conversation. “Hold on. You got us gifts?”

Eleven nods excitedly. She quickly begins pulling out each of her trinkets, wrapped messily with too much tape. Part of her is tingling with nerves, wondering if they’re maybe not pretty enough or simply stupid and not worth the time. But then she remembers what Will told her, that the thought is what means more than anything else.

The way they’re all smiling at her, waiting for her to hand them over, makes her believe it. They’re happy she’s there, sitting with them, and that feels like the best gift she could’ve ever received.

She places each gift down in front of them, holding out a hand to keep them from digging in until she feels ready to face their reactions. “Okay.”

Four hands shoot out at once as each boy eagerly snatches up their presents. There’s the frantic tearing of paper and disposal of wrapping materials—Eleven suddenly wonders what the point of gift wrap is if it’s simply going to be destroyed come the day of unwrapping—and then the wonderful sound of appreciative reactions.

Well, mostly appreciative. Lucas holds his haul up to the light, trying his best to hide his confusion. “A bag of rocks?”

“Wrist rocket,” Eleven explains, mimicking the motion of using his greatest weapon. After the provided explanation, Lucas’s disappointment shifts quickly into approving understanding. “Ammo.”

“These are great, Eleven,” Will chimes in, holding up his new set of colored pencils. She’d found them in Hopper’s desk drawer, and after admitting he rarely got any use of them he allowed her to regift them to someone who might actually appreciate them far more. “Thanks a ton.”

“You’re my favorite friend,” Dustin agrees, already digging into the stash of chocolate pudding she may or may not have swiped from the school cafeteria in a rush job that afternoon. But they had plenty, and it’s not as though they’re going to notice.

Eleven turns her attention to Mike, waiting for his reaction. Although she cares about all of them deeply, she would be lying if she claimed she didn’t care about his opinion the very most. Hence why finding the ideal gift for him had been so difficult.

But she thinks she made the right choice. She worked from the heart, as she’s trying her best to learn to do. So it’s with bated breath that she watches Mike retrieve the small card holder from the wrapping paper, popping open the lid and examining it curiously.

“Huh,” he says, obviously not getting it. “Notecards.” When he notices her expectant expression, he tries his best to cover his confusion with enthusiasm. “Oh, well, this is great! You know, how I always need school supplies, and things like that.”

Eleven can’t help but laugh. She nudges his hand, nodding towards the box again. “The cards.”

Mike raises his eyebrows, shifting his attention back to the notecards. He pulls a few out, looking at the one word written painstakingly on each one with the best handwriting Eleven could manage. He flips through a few more, finding it written again and again, almost like a mantra.

_Promise._

She wants him to always remember the promises she’s keeping, the ones they made with one another. If he ever feels alone, or has another bad day, she wants him to be able to look at this box and see all of the dedication she has towards reminding him how very not alone he is. How she owes him an infinite number of promises, but is happy to keep every single one if it keeps him in her life. One for every day he never gave up on his.

The meaning of the gift seems to make sense to him now. He swallows, smiling lightly before locking eyes with her again.

“That’s a lot of cards,” he states, not sure what to say otherwise.

Eleven nods. “353.”

She can see the moment the impact of this lands with him—when his eyes widen and the corners of his mouth turn up just a tad more. Then another memory seems to strike him, causing him to shuffle as he jumps to his feet in that twitchy, restless way he always seems to be moving.

“That reminds me, I have—just one second,” he says breathlessly, scrambling to his full height and darting out of the room.

“Where is he going?” Dustin asks, watching him sprint away.

Lucas shrugs, sorting through his new rock collection and weighing them in his hands. “Who knows. Something stupid, probably.”

Mike returns a minute later, flushed from running and cradling an object in his hands. He drops back down to his knees in front of her, flopping back into a sitting position and fighting to catch his breath as he rambles.

“I have something for you too,” he explains. “I almost forgot—I can’t believe I almost forgot, I’m such an idiot—but I think you’re going to like it. I know how much it meant to you when you first got to—oh, why am I bothering to explain? Just… here.”

He holds out the object to her, familiar to her the moment she gets a good look. She gently takes his old watch into her fingers, in awe that he’s so willingly handing over such a useful and important tool to her without a second thought.

“I can’t,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s yours.”

“Oh, no, it’s all good,” he assures her. He holds up his own wrist, pulling down his sleeve to show off a shinier, newer wristwatch. “My mom got me this one for Christmas this year. And I didn’t want to just toss this one in a drawer and forget about it, and then I thought, well, you could sure use a watch. And you spent enough time with this one. I couldn’t think of a better person to give it to.”

Eleven can feel her cheeks flush again, but this has nothing to do with the chilly weather. She turns it over in her fingers, feeling a strange fuzziness in her stomach where she’s certain fuzziness does not belong.

“Help?”

Mike sits up straighter and nods, reaching forward and helping her secure the watch to her wrist. It feels nice to have it there once again, so much so that it almost feels like he’s returning the gift to her rather than giving it to her for good for the first time.

His touch lingers after the watch is situated on her wrist. They lock eyes, that fuzziness growing even stronger and butterflies blooming into flight across her ribcage. “Merry Christmas, El.”

“Merry Christmas, El!” the rest of the party repeats, mocking Mike’s sickly sweet soft spot for her while simultaneously wishing the sentiment for their newest friend. She gives all of them a grin, nodding gratefully and cradling her wrist to her heart.

Joyce reenters with a plate for Eleven, the family dog bouncing around her feet in the hopes of getting a scrap or two. “Here you go, Jane. Don’t let the dog steal any from you.”

Eleven happily gets to her feet, meeting Joyce halfway to take the plate. It’s filled with treats she’s never seen before, but she’s eager to try them all. Her stomach growls in anticipation.

Suddenly, she notices all attention has turned on her. Lucas is laughing from the floor, pointing at her and making her wonder what she did wrong. “El! Mistletoe!”

She frowns, spinning around to find the source of this mysterious presence that is causing so much enjoyment at her expense. “Mistletoe?”

“Up,” Will explains, a sheepish smile on his face. Eleven lifts her gaze, spying the neat arrangement of leaves hanging from the doorframe where she’s currently standing.

“What is mistletoe?”

Nancy rolls her eyes, Steve snickering next to her. “It’s a cheap way for boys to get you to kiss them. You’re supposed to kiss whoever you’re standing with underneath it.”

Eleven makes a face. “Alone?”

“No, you’re not,” Dustin disputes. He points lower to the ground next to her.

Eleven looks down, meeting the wistful and hungry gaze of the Byers family dog. He tilts his head at her, obviously unaware of the traps of tradition they’ve fallen into and eyeing her more for the food she’s holding in her hand.

“Leave her alone, guys,” Mike argues.

“Oh, you’re just jealous of the dog,” Lucas taunts.

She isn’t sure what she’s supposed to do, but she isn’t going to be one to disrupt Christmas tradition. She gently stacks her plate on the mantle of the shelf behind her before kneeling in front of the family dog. They stare at each other for a long moment, before Eleven reaches out to pet him. “Happy holiday.”

The dog barks, jumping forward and licking her on the chin. She startles at first, but relaxes when she hears the joyful laughter of all those she loves assembled in the room around her. Her hesitancy is replaced with a grin, and she scratches the dog a little more confidently behind the ears.

For how cold it is outside, Eleven doesn’t think it’s possible to feel any warmer.

* * *

Even with how cozy her blanket cocoon is, for whatever reason Eleven can’t seem to fall asleep.

As she understands it, that’s the typical mood for every child eagerly anticipating what’s to come Christmas morning. The evening is all about staying up late as long as possible, waiting to see a big man in red and waiting for the hours to tick by so it can be morning again.

She isn’t sure she much cares for all of that. For her, the insomnia stems from all the joy she experienced today that she’s still attempting to process.

Snow is falling outside the window again, but it doesn’t give Eleven the same chill it once did this morning. She knows that for now, she’s far from the darkest corners of the universe. For now, she gets to enjoy the snowfall and promises of tomorrow, safer and more secure than she’s ever been before.

Still, being able to get some sleep would be nice.

Deciding she might be thirsty, she carefully crawls her way out of bed and tiptoes into the hall to get a glass of water. Maybe she’ll make an Eggo as an early holiday treat, if she can figure it out without waking up Hopper.

As she soon realizes, waking up Hopper isn’t going to be much of an issue. Because he’s already wide awake.

The living room in its holiday glory takes on a completely different hue in the late night hours. The lights are all out and civilization is slumbering outside the window as snow drifts into quiet layers on top of them, but the Christmas tree is still aglow in the living area. The room takes on a pleasant, pinkish radiance, sprinkled with pops of blues, yellows, and greens.

Hopper is seated on the couch, gazing thoughtfully at the tree and enjoying the quiet. More of that natural peace, spreading throughout the whole cabin and keeping both of them content.

“Pretty.”

Hopper jumps, spooked by her unexpected presence. But he softens when he recognizes it’s her, like he always does. “Sure is. What are you doing up?”

Eleven shrugs, making her way further into the room. She tentatively settles on the couch next to him, mirroring his fascination in watching the tree twinkle with life in front of her.

“Don’t know why I do it,” he says thoughtfully. “But every year I always find myself sitting here, sitting in the dark. Well, the almost dark. Something about the lights just…”

Although she doesn’t know what he’s going to say, she figures she gets what he means. Something about the lights is mesmerizing, especially considering how they seem to have rewritten their own history. For the past year, such lights held an indisputable sense of dread, a connection to something much darker and much more dangerous than any of them wanted to confront. Yet somehow, they also held a unique sense of beauty too—the one source of connection to a beloved soul who would have been lost to them forever otherwise.

And here they are a year later, glimmering on every tree in Hawkins and giving off an entirely different aura. Togetherness, joy, an indisputable warmth. So much warmth.

Eleven is a lot like the lights, she realizes. Shedding her darker history, starting anew with a new sense of purpose. A new sense of all of the above.

Gently, Eleven scoots closer to Hopper and rests her head on his shoulder. He’s a bit stiff at first, but after a moment he relaxes and allows her to nestle more securely into his side.

“Merry Christmas, and all that,” she murmurs.

Hopper nods, releasing a sigh and draping an arm around her shoulder. He squeezes her shoulders, clearing his throat and releasing a small, soft laugh.

“Happy holiday.”


End file.
